I will be 62 years old in just a few weeks

I’m Five foot eleven. About two hundred forty pounds. And yes, I’ve had a heart attack.

Now some folks hear that and think, “Well, that’s it. Time to slow down. Take it easy. Sit in a recliner and argue with the television.”

But let me tell you something…

Getting old doesn’t mean getting soft.

It means getting smart.

There’s a big difference.

I walk into Planet Fitness and I see young bucks flexing in the mirror, headphones on, taking selfies like they’re auditioning for a protein powder commercial.

Meanwhile, I’m over there on the treadmill, walking with purpose.

Because I’m not training for beach abs.

I’m training for more birthdays.

I’m training so I can climb stairs without sounding like an accordion.

I’m training so I don’t scare my cardiologist at my next appointment.

After a heart attack, you learn something real quick, your body isn’t invincible. But it’s also not finished.

You don’t need to bench 300 pounds at 62.

You need:

• A strong heart
• Strong legs
• A smaller waistline
• And enough stamina to live your life

Belly fat doesn’t disappear because you complain about it.

It disappears because you walk.

Because you lift.

Because you pass on the second slice of pie.

Because you decide you’re not done yet.

Here’s the truth nobody likes to hear:

Most people don’t get “old.”

They get sedentary.

They get comfortable.

They get soft.

And comfort is expensive.

It costs you mobility.
It costs you energy.
It costs you years.

So no, I’m not trying to be 25 again.

I’m trying to be the strongest 62-year-old in the room.

And if that means lifting light weights, walking every day, and eating like a grown man instead of a college freshman, so be it.

Because getting old is mandatory.

Getting soft is optional.

And Grandpa doesn’t do optional softness.

That’s enough outta me for now. But don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more to say next time.
Grandpa (Professional Ranter and Amateur Philosopher)